I once had one. It had two voice choices (a bloke and a posh bint). It got me from where I'm at to where I wanted to get to eventually, but on a recent two-week caravan towing nightmare in darkest Cornwall,
the f***ing thing selected a route between two sites that scared the living sh*it out of her indoors. I programmed in where we started from to where we wanted to get to and watched it do its calculations and set off.
"Turn left", said my electronic bas*ard. I did as requested and ended up hauling a four-berth along some back lane about as wide as Victoria Beckhams left leg. "Please God - let there be no f**king tractors coming in the opposite direction", I muttered. The Tom Tom readout said 17.4 miles to go at this point.
Luckily - no combined harvesters, tractors or articulated lorries delivering to Morrisons supermarkets blocked my path....oh no......it was far, far worse than that.
"Bear left, then turn right", it ordered.
Now, the weather was shite - rain, fog and early morning gloom and I did a bit of bearing left, then turned right.
The windscreen wipers thrashed the rain away and I realised that I couldn't look along, or down or left or right.
Just upwards......a f**king long way upwards.
In front of me was a fu**ing vertical ascent that disappeared into the gloom. Rainwater was cascading down this Cornish version of K2, dragging along with it a vast amount of cow-shit, bits of tree and dead badgers and even though I was driving a mighty 3 litre Toyota Granvia automatic, I just new that Tom Tom was taking the piss.
As this f***ing hill got steeper and steeper, and the lane got narrower and narrower the wife began to scream.
The front end of the people carrier sort of reared up and we commenced a rather awesome backwards slide down this mountain that passed as a road. Tom Toms little arrow got all confused and it said,
"Turn around when possible".
Smacking the motor in 4 wheel drive, the front landed on the road again, just as a raft of cow poo came slithering along from somewhere higher up. The front wheels flung shit every which way, the wife just about followed through and I swore a lot. We skidded in a tsunami of cow crap, going backwards twenty feet - forwards six feet. Tom Tom offered me a little encouragement.
"Turn around when possible"
Now at the very summit of this mountain, I sighted some sort of farm house, with a fu**ing great big wall around its front garden. I had shoved my foot all but through the floor and the engine was giving it hell. We started to move e-v-e-r so slowly in a forward direction. The wife was blaming me, and promised to bludgeon me to death with the next available blunt instrument if we ever got out of this alive.
As we crept upwards past the farmhouse I was muttering, "Please let there be no more slippery cow shit, please let there be no more slippery cowshit......."
Net curtains in one of the farmhouses upstairs windows opened and some throwback peered out at me, the wife, the car and the caravan as we screamed upwards at 1 mile an hour. I grinned like some sort of special needs person and pointed at my Tom Tom.....the face at the window mouthed the words "Stupid Cnut", and vanished from sight.
As we crested the hill and got back on a flat bit, my other half lunged for my throat but I evaded the attack and wound the window down, yanked the Tom Tom off its plastic holder and chucked it into the pissing rain. We did not stop again, and eventually reached our destination without any help from a Satnav with a shit sense of humour.
So, there's a Tom Tom somewhere half way up the steepest hill in Cornwall near a place called Sticker if anyone wants to go and look for it. Personally, I hope that its been trampled to death by a herd of cattle with bovine TB.
I shall be getting a better bit of Satnav kit for Christmas, but the little fu**er won't be switched on if I happen to be hauling a caravan in between Cornish villages. I shall be staying on big flat roads, even if it adds 150 miles to the journey.
She's still having flashbacks and last night she jumped out of the bed at two in the morning yelling,
"We're going to crash! We're going to crash!"
When she came round, I got twatted with the bedside clock radio.
Anyone recommend a really, really good Satnav replacement please?
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My Missus had one of those things when she worked driving over half of England ... that and a "hands free" ... she'd have three way conversations ... one with me telling me I don't know Jack Sh*te and the other with the Toffee Noses Tw*t she'd programmed in to tell her the way (or was it the other way around) ... then with true feminie logic disregarded anything it said and went which ever damn way she wanted!

This weekend my Missus lent it to her mate to drive down through France ... Her mate was chuffed to f**k as it navigated them out of Le Havre ... got them almost the the turn off to the Autoroute and promptly died ... she then rings up and my Missus gave me grief cos I hadn't charged it up and her mate hadn't put it in the cradle correctly! ... and tell me again why it was my fault that your mate is too thick???? Doh!

I had a similar Tom Tom experience. I used to have a job that involved a lot of driving around South East England and found a Tom Tom blackspot in Essex. Every time I got within 10 or so miles of this spot, without fail, the Tom Tom would send me down this country lane which got narrower and narrower and narrower and eventually turned into a woodland footpath with trees everywhere and no space to turn around. I'd end up having to reverse half a mile or so back up the path.

No matter where you tried to go and no matter how many detours I took, the fucking thing would always send me to this track. I once drove 17 miles away from the track, only to be redirected there by the Tom Tom. I was covering a huge amount of mileage at the time and I'd tend to forget about the black spot and just switch off, following the Tom Tom on autopilot until it was too late. Three or four times I'd get there and find sales rep cars like 3 series beemers, Audi A4s and delivery vans reversing up the track.

Eventually I just refused to do jobs in Essex. It's full of wankers anyway so it was no real loss.

I lent my dad my Tom Tom last weekend whilst he was going shooting up yonder...he set off at 6am, i got a text at 8am telling me not to expect my Tom Tom to be brought back with him, it drove him up the wall (or into one to be more precise)...he will stick to maps and internet route planners, i shall fork out some money for a proper satnav...it was a dodgy piece of kit at times, but did get me to andorra for a skiing piss up. now that was an experience.